


You're FINE:  Freaked-out, Insecure, Nervous, Emotional.

by Gigabite



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: 5+1, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Implied Torture, Mental Breakdown, POV Second Person, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-31
Updated: 2013-01-31
Packaged: 2017-11-27 17:45:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/664699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gigabite/pseuds/Gigabite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the greatest secret in the world. You’re not a Super-Agent. You’re just a man doing his best and sometimes finds that that’s good enough.<br/>Five times Phil Coulson broke down alone, and one time the Avengers were there to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're FINE:  Freaked-out, Insecure, Nervous, Emotional.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt at Avengerkink:  
> "Coulson never gets frazzled, never loses his cool, always knows what needs to get done and how to do it. He provides ground support for the Avengers in battle, rescues civilians, but after they've gone home to rest and relax, he keeps working: taking care of the cleanup, coordinating first responder crews, recovering bodies, finding the missing, triaging the wounded, notifying the next of kin, dealing with politics and the paperwork, all without batting an eye.
> 
> It's the best-kept secret at SHIELD that after all that's done, when he's sure nobody's there to hear or see, Coulson lets himself fall apart. He takes time to grieve, rage, wallow in guilt, hate himself for his failures and inadequacies; then he puts himself together again so he can be the polite, professional, unobtrusive agent who gets things done. 
> 
> The Avengers who are new to SHIELD think Coulson might be a robot. It's easy to think something is easy when you watch someone really competent doing it. Not their fault they take Coulson and what he does for granted. At least, not until they realize his dirty little secret: he's only human.
> 
> Gen or pairing, whatever, I don't mind! I just want to see the Avengers being there for Coulson at the end."
> 
> Edited some parts and added some others. If there are any triggers that I have not put in, let me know and I'll add them.

1\. You hold on until you get into the privacy of your room. Today’s been a long day and you’re done. Clean-ups been done, nobody left behind alive or dead, the injured have been taken care of as best as you could organize, families notified, and the paperwork has been finished. You’re fine; the junior agents…no, anyone can’t see weakness. It’s your damn job, hell maybe even your superpower. Some of the Avengers seem to think so. Super-Agent with the power of competence and unflappability.

But as you close the door, you shatter to pieces. You howl at the loss; friends gone, families without their fathers or mothers or children, innocents who had no reason to die today. You rage at the injustice of it all sometimes. You can’t even begin to understand why good people had to die. You grieve and punish yourself. It’s your damn job to make sure people get out safely and you can’t even do that? You sit in a nice office, while good men and women take their final breaths because of fucking mistakes. Your fucking mistakes. You can’t make mistakes. People die when you make mistakes. You cry and hate and sometimes on days like these break out a bottle and drink, until you wake up on the floor the next day, floor wet either from tears or from the remainder of the alcohol when you smash the bottle to bits.

You still have a job to do. You pick yourself up and patch your shattered soul up, ignoring when the shards don’t fit as well as before. They don’t need a broken man. They need a competent super-agent who gets shit done. And that’s you.  
You’re fine.

2\. You watch as the junior agents try to hide admiration in their eyes. Why the hell would they admire you? You’ll be the one who send them to their demise. Oh, you’ll try as hard as you can to keep them alive. You know that. You’ll promise them that you’ll always try your damn hardest to bring them back safely. But you never make that promise that they will always come back. That they won’t die. You’ll never make promises you can’t keep. You’re the super-agent. You never break your word. But you’ll never give your word for something you can’t do.

The mission was a disaster. You’re fine for now. The Avengers came and they saved most of your group. Several didn’t make it out. You had a mole who betrayed your team to the enemy. You should have known. Some of the team looks at you weirdly. You’ve had to grab three agents’ remains by throwing them into a bucket and walking out. There weren’t enough of them left to drag out. 

One of them, you don’t remember, you’re holding on, you’re fine, mumbles something about how cold you are. You’re holding what used to be a human being in a blue plastic bucket without a hint of anything on your face. 

You go back and do the paperwork for the mission. You have time so you notify the next of kin. You hold people in your arms, tears streaming down their face. Sometimes they scream at you. You let nothing show on your face. It’s your job to keep calm. Keep calm, damnit.  


You sit in your room and weep. If you knew that there was a mole, then three agents wouldn’t have died today.  


But by morning, you’re fine. One day, you won’t be, but today, you’re fine.  
You’re fine.

3\. You were scared out of your wits. You almost died again today. You stared at the end of the gun without flinching, but inside you were screaming. Seconds away from the man pulling the trigger, an arrow appeared through his skull and you felt the ropes binding you loosen. 

They look at you with worry, but you brief them on the place and they set off. You grab a gun (not that gun, you won’t even look at it) and make your way out. 

Medical keeps you in for a while to check on your injuries. You’re fine. Bruised ribs, concussion, and a couple of burns; nothing serious. You’re fine. That was nothing. Barton got worse yesterday. You sign yourself out of Medical and finish your paperwork for the week. People need these reports for critical information. The Avengers rarely do it, but that’s ok. You do it for them. They’re busy and don’t have time to write what they did. It’s your job anyway. They know it too. 

In your room, you grab a pillow and scream into it. It’s hard; it is always hard. From the time you were in the Rangers to when you faced a god, you knew that you would forever brush shoulders with death. But facing the void like today, will always terrify you. So you scream and the next day you get right back up and keep going at it.  
You’re fine.

4\. It’s stupid. You don’t know why it sets you off. They don’t know though. All they see is a small faint smile on your lips and hear a deadpan reply.

You know what people think sometimes. Hell, they even had a betting pool once one whether or not you were a robot or something beyond human. No one could be this good (Good, hah. You wish you could be) at your job and that unflappable, and still be human. You understand, they call it like they see it and when they see you, they see someone with no emotion. It doesn’t bother you (much).

But this time, when you were called an unfeeling robot, something snapped inside you. Maybe it was the fact that one of the team had said something to that degree when you handed them some papers to sign after another great mission with two of the members stuck in Medical, not sure if they were going to pull through or not. 

God, you’re not emotionless like everyone says. You wish you were sometimes, so it wouldn’t hurt like this. But no, you have emotions; you’re human. You just can’t afford to show them in this line of work. It’s a weakness that others will take advantage of. 

So you find a way to excuse yourself. You’re always busy anyway so they don’t pay any heed. You check up on the two. They were so fragile, but still keeping up with super soldiers, geniuses, and gods. You leave and head to your room. And you let go. 

You snap and scream. You yell and throw things. You let it off your chest and let your heart bleed. 

The next day, you find that they are in stable condition and do the exact same thing again. They’re going to be ok. They’re going to be fine.  
You’re fine.

5\. You’re in charge. Everything goes well. Hell, things go well and the team praises you. This is why you’re the super-agent, they say. You get shit done. 

You wonder sometimes if people knew what you did behind closed doors. You know that Fury and Hill do. But you also know they did their own things to cope with their jobs. The chains that bound you all were tight and forged in the blood of the people who you sacrificed for others. You know that Barton and Romanoff do. They were kind enough to give you your space and maintain your secret. 

You should be happy. You are, actually. You’re fine, but you need to decompress. A lot was put on your shoulders and sometimes… you stagger under the weight. It was a good day today. It was, it was, it was.

But as you sit on the floor and watch the clock tick… You fear that you can’t do it again.  
And as you stand and compress yourself back into your Agent Coulson mask, you wonder what happens when you can’t. You wonder what happens when you fail.  
But you can’t think that. You can’t second-guess. You’re Agent Coulson, Super-Agent.  
You’re fine. 

+1 You don’t know how the rest of the team found out. Today was bad. Not bad, really bad. Your mask is slipping and you’re not even in your room yet. You’ve done your job again. When everyone is gone, you’re still working and you’ve just finished. 

You sit in your room, gun in your hands. You really don’t know what you’re doing or how it got there, but it’s in your hands, light glinting off the metal. You watch as the light reflects off and think on your old question, “What happens when you fail?”

Suddenly the door slams open and you’re mobbed by your team. One pulls the gun away from your hands, another screams at you. You stare numbly at them. 

It’s the greatest secret in the world. You’re not a Super-Agent. You’re just a man doing his best and sometimes finds that that’s good enough. You fight the good fight and sometimes you need to crumble under the weight of the world. You’re not a hero. You’re just a man trying to do his job so no one else has to. You’re not a robot. You’re human. And tired, so damn tired. You’re not Agent Coulson, the best agent SHIELD has. You’re just Phil Coulson, a weary man who has tried to be so strong for far, far too long. You’re just Phil, a man who needs to grieve, to rage, to just let go.

One by one, they pull you into a group hug. You tense from the motion. This isn’t something you can show to them. You’re the Super-Agent. The unfeeling robot that gets everything done, no questions asked. You’re fine, goddammit!

But one of them whispers in your ear, “It’s ok to let go now, Phil.” The others murmur their agreement and hug you even tighter.  


The next day, you walk into your office and see that the paperwork is done. Everything down to the last letter.

If maybe they saw you cry that night, they paid no mind. 

If maybe they heard you scream, they never mentioned it.

If maybe they treat you a little more gently, you raise an eyebrow, but pay no mind.

If maybe they spend time with you after another really bad day, you never mention it.

But you pull yourself back together like always. 

You’re fine. For real, this time.


End file.
